


The Doll's Cage

by EuphoniousGlow



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Child Abuse, Nonexplicit, Squick, empowerment, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-08-04
Updated: 2010-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 22:56:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EuphoniousGlow/pseuds/EuphoniousGlow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A thirteen-part story about captivity, loneliness, abuse, hope, and freedom. Trigger warning for nonexplicit underage sexual abuse and emotional manipulation. Work-in-progress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. purpose

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This work does not glorify abuse. If you're looking for a loli/non-con fetish kick, get it somewhere else. Dedicated to survivors.
> 
> Each part is inspired by a prompt from the thirteen floors challenge at the marluxia_namine Livejournal community.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Traverse Town: forget

She looked at the blank tablet, its pages white as the marble roses, crisp and new and full of promises. Next to it lay a pastel rainbow, crayons and pencils and inks, waiting to fill those empty sheets. Their color was strange against the white of the table, the walls, her dress. She heard soft footsteps behind her, and in a moment she knew he was standing behind her. She always knew it was him--he sounded like death and smelled like cherry blossoms. He finally spoke, and his voice echoed in the large chamber that was her prison--her cage.

"Do you like my presents?" She nodded, slowly, clasping her hands to keep them from shaking. She both wanted him to move into her vision so she could the threat, but she also wanted him to stay away, stay invisible.

"You know what you have to do now, don't you? Naminé?" Her name sounded strange uttered by his voice, drawn out and too sweet and full of promises that could only be broken. She thought he might want an answer; his question seemed to expect one.

"Yes," she said, and her voice was diminished, suffocated, by the presence of his, like rich dark soil to a frail lily on a grave. Finally he walked around the edge of the table, and she looked up when she saw his fingers--black clad and strong and beautiful--against the white table. Her eyes met his--sky blue to violet--and she felt something like a million tiny insects against her skin. She shivered.

He smiled, and it was cold and warm at the same time, capable of anything and everything, of promises that could be broken or kept.

"Good," he said. "Make him forget."


	2. canvas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wonderland: cards

One by one she took the crayons out of their box, feeling them in her fingers, enjoying the contrast of their colors against her pale skin. When she had stared for a few moments she heard a voice behind her, but it wasn't one she had expected.

"Are you just going to stare at it or are you going to draw something?" Naminé's hand shook, and she was momentarily glad she hadn't yet started, or she would have ruined her drawing. She quickly pulled the crown-shaped paper towards her as Larxene came into view. The twelfth member was small and short and shrew-like, and though she had the same coloring as Naminé they couldn't be more different. Larxene was as shocking as her own element, quick to strike and leaving the victim reeling and damaged. She was cruel and uncaring, and Marluxia used the threat of Larxene's fury if Naminé didn't listen. Naminé was terrified of Larxene, but also sometimes wished she could be more like her, braver and stronger and not so helpless.

But for now there was nothing Naminé could do except obey, so carefully she began the task of creating cards from the memories deep inside the Key-master's heart. The cards needed color--they craved it--and she obliged them.

First and strongest was red, like sunsets burning over solemn waves, like Kairi's hair as she lay peacefully sleeping. Like roses and promises and hearts bound together. It was a sad and sweet color, despite its vividness, because it was at once meant to be and never would be and she could only sit by and watch. Quickly she put the red crayon aside and picked up another.

Orange was second, and as she looked at it she suddenly thought of fire, quick and dangerous, and a smile like treason; and anyway Sora didn't yet know what Axel was like. Orange was the sand of Destiny Islands and boys playing a rough game, Wakka warning Tidus not to swim too far, and telling Sora to always stay by Riku; she wondered what had happened to him. But she also thought of three friends laughing while framed against a sunset; three would always be enough, and there would be no place for her there.

Yellow was bright and happy, like Sora himself, and even though Larxene was yellow it was a different kind, all electric and burning where his was warm and free. Naminé's hair was yellow but it was a washed out color, like a painting that had been left in the rain; there was no brightness or happiness in that color.

Green was the leafy canopy over Destiny Islands and the youthfulness of summer games. It was Selphie with fingerpaint smeared on her jumper and Riku hitting Sora on the head with a coconut from a safe place in a tree. It was the treehouse where Riku had told them of his restlessness and plans to move beyond the comfort of their island home. It was stability and welcoming and just a little bit of growing up.

The fifth was bright blue; she had never seen the sky before but he had, and she trusted his memories. Sora was kind of like the sky, limitless and sunny and free, and she smiled and thought of relaxing days on the beach and swimming in the warm ocean. Riku might have been best at just about everything, but Sora was the better swimmer. Perseverence was just as important as muscle power.

The next crayon was nearly lowered to the paper when she paused, and the deep blue color swam before her half-lidded eyes. She couldn't use this for his memories; not when it already permeated her own. If he had been here, she would have seen the color in his indigo eyes. She couldn't look at his eyes, because if she did, she would find herself unable to look away. She placed the crayon to the side, next to the pink. She wanted to draw him, but at the same time, she didn't want to. She was too afraid to give him that.

The last color, the purest violet. Kairi's eyes. Naminé closed her eyes for a moment, and as she saw Sora's world inside his memories, she could feel the strength of his feelings for her. It would take all her ability, all that which Marluxia said was so precious to him, to uproot the memories of the heart-princess and leave in its place the memory-witch.

"You can become more, you know," came Larxene's voice from behind her. "You can be more than a shadow. Your little hero will rescue you some day, and he doesn't ever need to think about that little bitch again." She extended a hand, her electric-blue eyes cold and waiting.

Naminé placed the newly-drawn cards in the woman's hand, her head bowed as she sent her thoughts to a lonely girl, waiting. _I'm sorry._ She hoped that, somehow, Kairi would forgive her one day.

The white shadow-girl was left alone now, with only her crayons and paper for company. She had no tears, because Nobodies couldn't cry. She wished she could, then she felt ashamed at what Marluxia would think of her. So she looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. They were covered in a rainbow of colors, like the touch of Sora's memories against her pale existence.

_Forgive me, Sora_; and then she went back to drawing.

It was all she knew how to do.


	3. flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olympus Coliseum: trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for nonexplicit, abstract sexual abuse in this chapter, and disturbing content.

_"I have something for you, Naminé."_

Pale fingers bloom like rosebuds against pale skin, soft as petals. Words like creeping vines, sharp thorns pricking her skin. Searching, searching. 

_"Don't you like my flowers, love?"_

His voice, soft as a cat's purr, echoes in the emptiness. She shivers.

_"I grew them for you, but there is no color." _

White dress, white flowers, white walls, white sheets. 

_"They smell like nothing. I wonder if they are dead just as we are."_

His hair, his eyes--her vision blurs with color brighter than any of her crayons. She shuts her eyes, glad to shut away the vivid indigo.

_"They should be red; roses always are."_

His hair falls all around her. She reaches out and touches it. It's always so soft.

_"I love you, Naminé."_

She knows he's lying, but the words still hurt. 

He has only withered flowers to give.


End file.
